Restless Heart Syndrome
by Passivity
Summary: Blatant signs, symptoms and phenomena often lead people to the same conclusion: That they're sick in more ways than one and their only cure remains unknown.
1. Denial is a Poison

_**A**/**N**: A random little drabble I made while listening to the music on my Ipod. The song that inspires this is entitled '**Restless Heart Syndrome**' by **Sugarcult**._

_I wanted something different for a change and decided to do this one in the point of view of the people around them, not just one. Will be AsuCaga._

_Will probably be a drabble collection. I don't know... _

_I only own Desmond, the vaguely mentioned coffee maker and the unnamed officers. Nothing else._

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><p><em><strong>Denial is a Poison...<strong>_

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><p><em><em>That burns your throat.<em>_

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"I'm fine."

Always those words.

Never anything more.

Day in, day out, even amidst the darkness of the late evening, those words never fail to leave his lips.

Apprehensive eyes watched as black liquid slowly filters out of the pot and into a mug. Steam rises and the five men and three women in the room bite their tongues as they wait for the tenseness in the air to disappear. Ignoring the answer to a question that had an all too apparent reason for not being taken seriously, another one was thrown.

"B-but Admiral-… Are you sure that y-?"

"Yes." And the blue haired man walks away bitter and irate, scalding hot drink in hand, pretending as if the lower officer's worry for his wellbeing was that of ill will and not actually concern. The door shuts heavily behind him leaving everything, and everyone, inside the break room to descend into an irreproachable silence in the wake of his leaving. Men, and women, clad in white and blue release the breaths that they never even knew they had been holding as the sounds of his footsteps slowly fade.

And in that brief respite, their eyes turn to the impulsive officer who approached the admiral and voiced his question despite the suffocating atmosphere around their superior, wondering whether or not it was his curiosity, or his stupidity, that got the better of him.

In an attempt to defend himself, the young officer simply flails his arms around in mock gestures that would solidify his argument. "That was his seventh Cup o' Joe in the past hour and a half! Coordinator or not, that isn't normal! How can you not be worried about the guy?"

Many answered with a sigh and fake coughs followed by mutters of 'idiot', some merely laugh at the knowledge that he actually had been keeping count, but only one gave him their reason why. Another officer,much older than he, jaw defined and shoulders leveled stood from one of the couches and looked at him with near emotionless eyes. The sign of a soldier that's been to battle.

"Because Admiral Zala said he was fine, and questioning a superior officer is not in our job description." They knew this all too well.

Still, the much younger officer persisted to make them see what they saw long ago. "Coffee-holic isn't in his either. But it's like he runs on the stuff! Aren't any of you even the least bit concerned?"

"Just leave it be, Desmond." And he cringes at the sound of his name. "It's the same every single day. You should be used to it by now"

Everyone in the room agrees, except for the young, impulsive officer. He still wonders why their most applauded Admiral seemed to enjoy poisoning his body with caffeine in some sort of slow suicide. He wonders why someone so acclaimed as Athrun Zala could look so weary and beaten up without bruises and cuts. But, most of all, he wonders why no one seems to care. He avoids the gazes and trembles in anger. "I'm not used to it. I can't be used to it because whenever he comes in here… Every single time... I don't see a renowned war veteran that I used to idolize, I see a sick man with problems no one even tries to help him with!"

His outburst startles no one. Agitated, he storms out of the room, feeling disgusted by his colleagues' indifference.

And as the sound of his footsteps fade into the distance, the inhabitants of the break room just sigh and go about with their previous business, knowing full well how futile it was to actually try and understand what exactly plagued their admiral in those moments of ritualistic caffeine consumption.

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><p><em><strong>Written-Sin:<strong> Forgive any errors. Was written at night before going to bed. My muse/plot owl... man... thing is a total bastard and works when I don't want it to but not when I need it to..._

**Naigus:**_ Yes, blame the imaginary fowl, human hybrid that you created for all your writer's block._

_Please review!_


	2. Depression is like Pneumonia

_**A/N:** I don't like how this one turned out. But I couldn't make it work any other way._

_So here it is. _

_There will be a lot of OCs in this. Some named, some not. The most recurring would probably be Desmond from the previous chapter who I've got quite a few drabbles planned out for already simply because I can't help but enjoy the fact that he'll be 'swinging' the other way. (And by that, I mean he's gay.)_

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><p><strong>Depression is like pneumonia...<strong>

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><p><em>... It drowns you...<em>

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It was asphyxiating standing in the same room as her. Her very presence radiated greatness as document after valuable document was looked over, signed and, or, set aside. And to think that she had yet to even look up at the fidgeting mess of the girl that was just standing right there in front of her desk. She was Cagalli Yula Athha. The Head of their State and possibly the only politician to have ever personally fought in a war, two wars to be exact, while piloting a mobile suit and, or, a Gundam and lived through all of it.

And here she was, standing just a few steps away with even more documents to add to the pile that was standing tall atop the far corner of the woman's desk.

Though, that was not her first time in that particular office space, she was nervous and couldn't stop the stutters that left her throat each and every time she uttered anything in her presence. "Um… L-lady Cagalli, I have the-." She abruptly cut herself off before her tongue would even dare betray her by turning her words into a slur of ungodly noises.

She was no one special, just a young military officer that was given the menial task of receiving and passing on important documents to certain individuals. It was a demeaning little stint that came no sooner after a much higher officer had asked her to pass one document after the other to various divisions, many followed said officer's lead soon after and she found herself being turned into a messenger girl without warning.

"Thank you, Kayla. Please, just set it down there." The blonde gestured towards the pile already stacked high on her desk without even glancing in her direction. The scratching of the pen against paper played in her ears once more and she welcomed the eerie background noise that it provided.

"Today, Kayla." Only after literally squeaking in shock did she catch herself staring for what was the nth time that day.

Shuffling and nearly tripping on her own two feet, the young officer turned errand girl placed the papers where they were needed before stuttering an apology that went unheard by the blonde. "I-I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! I-I'll just be on my way now! Forgive me for wasting your time, Representative Athha!"

Running out of the door made things worse, she tripped and hit her head on the wall opposite the Representative's office's door just as she'd entered the corridor. "Owww…"

Even though she'd fallen upon herself, she looks back still. The door that was left ajar barred no one from seeing the inside or hearing the ever continuous sound of the pen running across the surface of the paper.

Undisturbed.

A solemn expression crosses her face as she feels something deep in the pits of her stomach something that she could not even decipher.

It was as if the Representative was drowning herself in her work.

And, what little others did to try and pull her out of it, only jostled the waves to take her down deeper.

"How sad…"

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><p><em><strong>Written-Sin:<strong> I'll say it again... I hate my muse._

**Naigus:** _NOT. MY. FAULT._

_Review please._


	3. Stress Just Worsens Things

_**A/N**: This one was supposed to be just a short drabble... I don't know how it turned into a thousand and five hundred worded oneshot... But I think that that should make up for my absence a little... *Shot*_

_Never said that I wasn't going to include any canon characters... Will probably have Kisaka in here too, someday... But it'll focus mostly on OCs._

_My excuse for not updating is at the bottom of the page..._

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><p><strong><em>Stress<em>**

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><p><em>It just worsens things...<em>

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It can, in fact, be quite daunting to find one's self face to face with the very machine that helped end lives and wars. At a towering height of eighteen to nineteen meters, the red mobile suit looming over them was nothing if not awe-inspiring. Somewhere in a military facility in ORB, were five young men, newly graduated mechanics given the chance to observe and work together with the very people that provided their country's armaments. And, just like the young techies that they were, amazement and childish wonder overcame them when faced to face with the machine that helped to end years of turmoil for their beloved nation…

The Infinite Justice.

Like armor made for a god so fearsome, a weapon made specifically to destroy and defend. It stood in front of them with an aura that just screamed and proclaimed the very power of the one pilot that had once sat in its cockpit. It exuded the very presence of its absent pilot, overpowering their senses and leaving them in a world of pure white with only that red machine to adore. There were absolutely no words to describe the euphoric feeling bubbling deep in the very pits of their guts.

"Awesome!" Except that.

"It is, isn't it?" A chuckle from behind was all they needed to pull them out of that threshold that split reality and a mechanic's heaven. They collectively turn their heads followed by their entire bodies. None of them could believe just who has decided to grace them with her presence at the very moment. She sauntered closer towards them, enabling the much younger men take a good look at her and make no mistake of who she was.

It was Erica Simmons, and there was a very, very devious glint in her eyes. "Wait 'till you see it from inside that armor."

That teasing declaration followed by the notion that they would get the chance to a famous mobile suit down was enough to get them screaming for joy like little children being promised some sweet sinful chocolate by their babysitters. It was unsightly for young men their age, but it amused soldiers and engineers that passed them by nonetheless.

"Wow…" Erica mutters in amazement as the five alternate joyful glances and excited conversations between each other. She was unable to hold back her snickers. "If this is how you boys react to seeing the Infinite Justice, then I can't even begin to imagine just how ecstatic you'll react to me bringing you anywhere near the ORB military's pride and joy."

Silence greeted her and, somehow, Erica knew just what would come her way. Massive fanboying ensued not short of a second later. "Really?"

"We get to see the ORB-01 Akatsuki?"

"The golden mobile suit made especially for Chief Representative Athha herself?"

"Can we take it apart?"

"Are we even permitted to see something so top secret?"

All five of them hounded her all out once. With eyes brimming with joy and fingers eager to touch and caress the special armor that gave the famous mobile suit its gold coloration, they overwhelmed Erica with their enthusiasm so much so that she was almost terrified of the very notion of letting them near the Representative's machine. For a moment she was too shocked to even answer any of their inquiries and just stared at them with wide eyes and a gaped mouth. She was not even given much time to recover her bearings before heavy footsteps approached them followed by a commanding voice that just dared anyone to commit insubordination.

"Yes, yes, yes, no and no. The same goes for my Justice as well. Absolutely no one is permitted to touch those machines other than me and a select few of the senior engineers and mechanics here."

Five bodies stiffened and five hands were raised in a salute. The abrupt change of atmosphere was enough to snap Erica out of the surprise that had previously caught her in a daze. Glaring at them, back ramrod straight with his arms locked behind him was the very pilot known for piloting the titular red mobile suit that served under and defended their country. He wore his usual Admiral's uniform with the addition of the white cap that no one ever really wears anymore. His eyes were fixed into a glare as he stared the five mechanics down, causing the young men to tremble in fear of whatever it was that served as an outlet for the Admiral's wrath.

It was an amusing sight, but troubling one at the same time. Seeing the once socially awkward Athrun Zala act so strict and harsh towards anyone is not exactly something that she was used to…

"Okay, calm down."

"Calm down? You just promised these **boys** a chance to put their hands on two nuclear powered war machines. Tell me Miss Simmons, why I should calm down?"

"Because it was a joke?" Erica crossed her arms in front of her chest. There was a brief staring, glaring seems more appropriate to describe the intensity of their gazes, contest between them. The five, who were still saluting, though saddened by that revelation, carefully took a step back to avoid the imaginary daggers that the two were shooting at each other.

"You will not bring them anywhere near those two machines." Hissed Atrun rather menacingly.

"Don't tell me how to do my job, Admiral Zala, and you'll be sure that I won't do the same for you. Although I think it's only proper to warn you that stress induced by heartbreak isn't exactly a valid excuse to use when spreading your pissy mood around."

The look of indignation that marred Athrun's face was enough of a warning for her to stop adding more coal into the fiery pit that was currently his temper and to keep herself from setting such a bad example in front of new meat that would surely experience the brunt of Admiral Zala's anger in case they decide to pull the same stunt on him. The only reason why she was being spared any kind of punishment due to talking back to such a high ranking officer like Athrun was simply because of something rather simple yet incredibly substantial thing regarding her social life.

Her friendship with the Chief Representative…

For some strange reason, even mentioning anything that had anything to do with the blonde spitfire was usually enough to force the navy haired man to back off of whatever business he was sticking his nose into. Stating to him that she was the person in all of ORB that Cagalli would ever trust enough to help engineer, manufacture and repair mobile suits would often result in Athrun's defeat in whatever argument that had ensued between them right before he silently stalks away, never to bring the subject up again…

Even if he was right.

It was like diplomatic immunity, except the only thing that she was not susceptible to was her well deserved comeuppance via a very irate ORB admiral.

Alright.

This was personal.

"Alright boys." She turns to the five that she'd previously ignored thanks to the arrival of her unwanted guest. "Seeing as we're not allowed to touch the Admiral's _toy_, why don't you come with me for a while? I just need to get my personal phone from my desk." The way she drawled out the word 'toy' made three of the young men think of something else, something highly inappropriate, while the other two remained, smartly, clueless.

Athrun, however, did not enjoy what that seemed to imply. "You…"

"T-to do what, ma'am?" He was cut off by one in the middle. Standing at about average height, a broad freckled nose and curly light ginger hair and baby blue eyes, the young man stuttered and trembled at the glare he suddenly received from Athrun.

"Why to get in contact with the Representative, silly. Let's see if we can get permission from her to access the room where the ORB-01 Akatsuki is contained." That glare became a look of shock as the Athrun's sight was once again directed at Erica Simmons before intensifying into something that had all five mechanics shivering and Erica smirking.

What they thought was going to become an all-out verbal warfare turned into something completely unexpected.

A silent declaration of defeat from the admiral usually predicted as proud and resilient by magazines and news papers.

Athrun stalked off, looking not too pleased as six pair of eyes trailed after him before he disappeared completely from their sight.

"Man, he needs to chill out a little." Uttered the eldest of the group as he scratched the crown of his obviously fake blonde hair.

"Thank goodness I didn't go to military school like my dad told me to."

"Same here."

"Amen…"

"I-I think I almost soiled myself." Said the ginger that had previously been struck by the admiral's glare. Erica merely snickered and approached him, gently patting the frightened boy on the back.

"That's what stress does to you… It festers and turns you into a walking, breathing, body of hate and anger… It's becomes worse if the reason for it happens to be blonde, stands at one hundred and sixty-five centimeters tall, and is someone you meet every day no matter how much you try to avoid them."

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><p><em><strong>Written-Sin<strong>: Was banned from the laptop at an indefinite amount of time (Just got it back recently). Didn't want to type my stories down on the family computer hence the lack of updates... Also, class started..._


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